


Goddamnit Enjolras: 2 The Goddamnining

by AdrenalineRevolver



Series: Goddamnit Enjolras [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Also Enjolras is bad at taking care of himself, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Sleepy morning chats get accidentally heavy, That's Combeferre's job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16396874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrenalineRevolver/pseuds/AdrenalineRevolver
Summary: Grantaire decided to stay the night and look after his beloved leader in the morning only to end up finding out that he's hiding even more issues in that beautiful blonde hair of his. Go figure.





	Goddamnit Enjolras: 2 The Goddamnining

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Since it's been forever, I'm working on my own, and the rating changed I decided to make it a series rather than a new chapter. Hope you like it! As for the sudden divulging of deep dark truths I could be like this back when I had to take this medication and it was almost as annoying as the hair thing because vulnerability is just such an awful sensation when you have little control over it. Thus, I gift it to Enjolras.

Enjolras felt like shit. He was nauseous because of that god-awful medicine and still in pain because he had pushed himself too hard the day before. Why had he bothered to take it? Normally he would have pushed it one more day so he could get his work out of the way. Oh, Grantaire. 

Grantaire had found him out and talked him into it. He also made him pasta. As disgusting as it was to think of food at the moment he supposed the two morally weighed out. The big question is what happens now.

Would Grantaire tell the others? Only Combeferre knew and he could be so overly concerned. He was always convinced he would do himself some permanent damage, not that it mattered when lives were literally on the line. Would the others continue to listen to him when they knew? Would they misinterpret his reasons and feel betrayed? 

He groans and runs his fingers through his hair. A little comes away, slightly more than a normal person’s shedding but it’s not the horror he one knew. It’s still enough to make his heart catch in his throat. It makes him feel vain to be upset by it yet here he is, upset by the hair that’s come away in his hand. 

There’s a knock at the door that makes him jump. 

“Based on your lovely call I take it you’re up?” Grantaire asks through the wood. 

“You’re still here?” He cringes at his tone and voice. Somehow he sounds like a rude zombie despite his intent.

“Why yes, caring for criminally negligent yet woefully brilliant morons is a lovely way to spend a Saturday morning.” He sounds rather chipper. “I made brunch.”

“I’m not sure I-“ 

“Enjolras I spent two hours googling what you can and can’t eat. I had to look through mommy style blogs where they tell their life story for two pages and exploit their kid’s issues before they tell you the damn recipe. Eat this food or I’ll do something unforgivable.”

“Like what?” He sits up a little and glares at the door. Does he really think he can threaten-

“I’ll tell Combeferre you missed your last dose.” His tone is low yet sweet. It’s the same one he uses when he realizes the perfect method to destroy one of Enjolras’ arguments.

Oh. “Oh.” 

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” The chipperness is back.

Enjolras gets up slowly and tries to make an effort. Really he just changes into different pajamas. As he’s brushing his teeth he dimly realizes that either Grantaire measured out his medication and compared it to his calendar, unlikely, or took a guess that panned out. Jackass. 

He expects to be assaulted by the heavy smell of things like bacon as he leaves his room but to his relief there were hardly any. At his little bar Grantaire has set up a meal that Enjolras isn’t sure he had the ingredients for. Did he go shopping?

“White rice, baked chicken with only salt, an apple, ginger tea, and a black coffee. Not a spice or drop of grease to be found. My pallet weeps for you.” Grantaire looks rather proud of himself and for good reason, it actually looks appetizing.

“Not everyone considers ‘fried’ a food group.” Enjolras manages as he sits down with a smile.

The dig is more of a relief to Grantaire than Enjolras could realize. It’s worrying to see him dazed and without opinion. 

“What was it you accused Marius of once when your orders were switched?” His eyes light up as he decides to tease Enjolras.

“That was rude of me. I was tired because everyone had been drinking and shouldn’t have taken it out on him.” His cheeks color slightly as he remembers snapping at the awkward boy.

“It was hilarious, he’s talked about getting it on a shirt. “You substitute having a personality with drowning the universe in sriracha just like all the other bourgeoisie from LA” Immediate, vicious, accurate. Besides, who orders chicken alfredo with sriracha? That’s worthy of a little shaming. I do think it’s the only time you’ve cut him to the quick like that and he’s come away as delighted as I would be.”

“Would you really?” The blonde raises an eyebrow.

“Hm?”

“Be delighted if I were unkind to you?” He looks absolutely perplexed.

“I usually am.” He smiles softly. He’s delighted if Enjolras even speaks to him. 

Enjolras isn’t quite sure how to process this but he obliges anyway. “In that case you eat like an unattended child and drink like you’re in need of an amputation and I cant figure out why you’re not dead.” 

“Bull-headedness. Death tries to claim me but I frustrate him far too much. I’m actually hundreds, if not thousands, of years old.” He says with an air of fake drama. “That and my diet does extend beyond candy when I actually feel up to making it.” He shrugs.

“You cook?” Honestly Enjolras’ idea of cooking was to put rice in a steamer. He should probably learn how to make things. 

“On good days.” He shrugs.

“What do you make?”

“Mostly Corsican things when I have the chance. My mother’s family was from there. They moved from there to Paris, Paris to here. The food sort of stayed though.”

How did he not know that at all? He supposes he doesn’t really know many things about Grantaire that would be considered intimate. 

“I don’t really cook.” He mumbles between bites before continuing. 

“And I don’t know where my mother was from.” Enjolras feels like he should share something, then again he already did last night. His medication is working against him and he knows it, it always makes him willing to be so hideously vulnerable. He continues to talk anyway. 

“She sang though. Every emotion made her sing. She sang when sad, when happy, when worried. Even when she was tired she would hum. That much I know is true because my sister remembers it as well.” She seems to remember so little while everything was burned into his mind. Lucky girl. 

Grantaire watches him quietly, afraid to say anything. It’s common knowledge that Enjolras doesn’t have a mother but other than that he’s been fairly tight lipped on the subject. Certain things can be inferred though. She’s no longer alive, the Thenardiers were involved in some manner, and his sister has either suppressed the trauma or dealt with it better. Much better.

The time Enjolras slipped Bahorel’s knife out of his pocket and began quietly approaching Eponine’s unsuspecting father had been actually terrifying and barely in a hot way. Somewhat more so was the calm and practiced manner that Courf had whispered something to him and Combeferre taken the knife away. Bahorel was too drunk to even realize he was pick pocketed and completely believed that he had dropped the weapon. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was said. Yet he absolutely did. 

“Did she have RA too?” It was as subtle a way to pry as any.

“I’m not sure. As far as I know she only was ever able to go to a hospital twice. Once to have us…” He sighs and takes a sip of his tea, finishing the sentence is harder than he thought. Enjolras lets it slip away for now and moves on.

“If she did she had no insurance and she was being extorted. She wouldn’t have been able to afford appointments to be diagnosed or the medication to treat it.”

Grantaire feels like he’s stumbled upon the tree of knowledge and lets himself ask the dangerous question. He knows he shouldn’t technically Enjolras could be considered to be under the influence but its too tempting an apple not to bite. “What, what happened to her?” 

“Tuberculosis.” He states like it doesn’t sound completely out of place.

“Wait what? Here? Like, twenty years ago?” 

Enjolras quietly puts down his fork and looks away from Grantaire to make sure he stays calm, or relatively so. “When my sister and I were three our bastard of a father abandoned us. Her parents rejected her because we were born out of wedlock so she was without any assistance. Finally she found the Thenardiers who claimed they would look out for us if she payed them. Instead they worked us as slaves and lied to her to extort her for more and more money. The type of money you can only produce if you’re working long hours and not eating much. Eventually she was fired, as she would not sleep with her foreman. Yet they claimed my sister was ill and needed a doctor. So she found other jobs. Any job. No matter how personally destructive.” He glares at his tea as if it can offer a reason for the cruelty she suffered. 

Grantaire bites his lip as he remembers the utter viciousness with which Enjolras had defended a couple of prostitutes from a cat-caller not far from the Musain, he even payed the women afterwards. While his stomach sinks at the idea that the exchange was personal he knows better than to ask. There’s no way he could make that not come out wrong.

“Even as she laid in bed dying of a disease that shouldn’t even be killing her she was trying to send us money. Trying to take care of us.” There’s a fire trying to start in his voice but it’s smothered by his exhaustion, then again the only reason he’s willing to talk about this is that same exhaustion. 

“How did you end up..?” Grantaire gestures around the room.

“Papa found us. He was he owner of the factory where she had worked and didn’t realize what had gone on. When he later found her in a fight with some prick who thought he could just shove snow down a woman’s shirt in the middle of January he had the cops release her even though she blamed him at the time for being fired and the resulting agony. He took her to the hospital and when she didn’t make it he came and took us from the Thenardiers.” He can’t help the edge of hatred in his voice when saying their name.

“Christ that sucks.” It’s ineloquent but its true. 

“If you think that sucks imagine finding out when you’re sixteen that you’re technically a kidnapping victim.” Enjolras laughs a little. 

“What?” Grantaire’s eyes widen in horror. Goddamn it Enjolras, what else have you neglected to mention?

“The only reason I know all of this is papa told me after I got into my first fight with the police. It turns out he has no legal claim to me. The Thenardiers do as they signed an agreement with mother. He just paid them two thousand dollars and took off with us. If everything were according to the law we would have been tossed into the foster care system at best, instead the mayor of a small town and owner of multiple small businesses adopted us. Well, then mayor, he understandably hasn’t run again. If I get into too many fights there’s a chance the police will notice me on a missing person’s list.” He still feels bad about it, he didn’t want to make his papa worry but he couldn’t just turn a blind eye to the wrongs in the world.

“Is there anyone else who knows about all this?” Grantaire tries not to sound worried at the possibility of helping to hide a kidnapper so the kidnapped can keep their father. 

“Combeferre knows a lot. Courfeyrac knows a good amount.” He sighs when he remembers who else most likely knows. 

“Eponine tried to pretend she didn’t remember but she always used to call Cosette “Little bird” when her parents weren’t talking her into contributing to the abuse because she would hum mother’s songs while she worked. Once when Cosette was sick she asked me how “the little birdie” was doing. I thought it was a fluke at first but then she avoided me for days. I figure she feels guilty about it all and just doesn’t know how she would even begin to say anything. I should probably tell her I don’t hate her. I mean arguably she saved my life once.” It was just such a tricky topic to try and bring up. Hey remember when your parents abused my sister and me and convinced you to play along half the time? Yeah we’re cool now I only resented you a little and then I had to take this developmental psych class in first year that really hammered home the fact that you were a victim too and not just a bitch. No that’s the sort of thing you use Combeferre or Jehan as a translator for.

“Oh?” He cocks his head to one side, wanting Enjolras to continue but not quite trusting his words to encourage it.

“Her parents prefer neglect over beatings because it’s easier to get away with. So when I mouthed off I was usually set outside. I can’t remember what I called her mother but it got me the reward of spending a night out in December. After everyone had gone to bed she tossed a blanket out the window that had cookies in it. But then she also called me stupid.” He remembers wanting to be mad over the insult but she hadn’t been wrong, he knew insulting her mother would lead to something like that. 

“That’s the only way she knows how to show affection. Just see what she calls you when she’s driving you home from a bar.” Grantaire laughs at the memory of Eponine calling him every terrible thing she could think of for waking her up at three in the morning to come get him.

“Speaking of, I showed you mine, now you show me yours.” Enjolras most definitely stole that phrase from Courf at some point and Grantaire’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. 

“A little forward but-“ A sly grin makes it’s way onto Grantaire’s face.

“You know what I mean.” Enjolras interrupts. “Why do you drink the way you do?”

“No special reason, dad was a wino and I hear his aunt drank herself to death. He was a good man though. Everyone expects him to be an ass when they know he’s an alcoholic, nah, just shitty genes and a bad way of dealing with problems.“ Those feelings have been carefully compartmentalized away long ago and they will not be unboxed today, thank you.

“Was?” His voice is uncharacteristically pensive. That itself is more uncomfortable than the question for Grantaire. 

“He was killed in a drunk driving accident when I was like fifteen. Believe it or not he wasn’t the drunk one!” He laughs and pretends not to notice that Enjolras seems heartbroken for him. 

“Witty old fuck had somehow convinced the life insurance company that he was worth something though. Man I bet they were pissed when they found out that the guy they were shelling out this much for was an unemployed college dropout who lived on box wine and the bits of food his kid deemed too gross to eat.” He effortlessly pushes those pesky feelings back into their box where they belong. 

“He sounds a lot like you, your father.” Enjolras is smiling and Grantaire thinks the world is starting to melt around them.

“Oh god no. He was a great dad, really patient with my bullshit. He was effortlessly smart. Always could find a way to one-up any problem be it taxes or some shithead at school. He was talented too. He would carve these fancy birds and shit from pieces of wood they were genuine art. And he sometimes hid it behind sarcasm but he really deeply believed in people, he once told me during one of his nightly benders that “The worst scum in the world is human but so is every bleeding heart that actually does something about it.” I’m nothing like him.”

“R,” Enjolras’ eyes soften, it’s a foreign but inviting look on him. “You’re just like him.”

It’s so sincere that Grantaire can’t even think of something defensive to say, he just stares wide-eyed as this information tries to process. It’s not. It really isn’t going. Enjolras thinks he’s patient? Smart? Talented? A believer? This has to be the medication. It made him act the way he had last night and now it’s doing this. 

“Gr-“ Enjolras is interrupted by his cellphone buzzing on the countertop. He sighs and picks it up. “Hello? Yes I took it.” 

His look of mild annoyance jumps to near fury. It’s a welcome bit of normalcy. “You have a date with who tonight? Cosette you can not be serious-“ He holds the phone to his chest. “I’ll be right back.” He stalks off to his bedroom. “That Bonaparte adoring boob? Please tell me you at least like him and this isn’t punishment for something I’ve forgotten or done. No, I don’t think you’d do that to someone’s feelings but I think you’d do that to me and that he would join you. Paranoid!?” He continues to bicker into the phone as he shuts his bedroom door. 

Grantaire silently reminds himself to send Cosette flowers as thanks for her lovely timing. At least Enjolras seems to have been distracted enough to eat most of the food. 

This was going to be a long weekend.


End file.
